


Tandem Surfing and Other Sports For Two

by Luthien



Series: Luthien Does Writer's Month 2019 [7]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Australia, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Australia, F/M, First Time, holiday romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 03:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: Lunch in Byron Bay - eventually.Part 5 of this (increasingly less) coffee-themed Australian mini-universe. Continues on from whereA Car Trip and a Conversationleft off.





	Tandem Surfing and Other Sports For Two

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for Writer's Month 2019 Day 7: sports

Brienne drew back, breathing hard, and let her hands slip from Jaime's face, but only so she could rest them against his chest. She could feel taut, toned muscle beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. She could pull up his shirt, right now if she wanted to, stroke her fingertips along his skin, and feel those muscles properly. Just the sheer audacity of the thought made her head spin for a second. She didn't think that Jaime would object, if he could look at her when she was at her absolute worst and still find her kissable. He obviously wasn't in his right mind, but then, neither was she. She didn't get into a car with men she'd only known for an hour or so, and she definitely didn't go to a hotel room and kiss them.

And yet, here she was.

Jaime glanced down at her open mouth, let his gaze linger there for a long moment, and then he was looking into her eyes. Really looking, as if he were trying to commit the sight to memory. They were almost of a height, she and Jaime, with Brienne just a little taller. It was a novel feeling to look across into someone's—_anyone's_—eyes, rather than down.

"I think that was a fairly definitive answer to my question," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Brienne could only nod mutely, partly because she seemed to have been struck speechless, and partly because Jaime chose that moment to kiss her, his finger slipping up to tangle in her hair. This kiss was just as good as the first one. Better, because this time Brienne knew it would be good, knew that she wouldn't be disappointed. Something sparked into life between them the moment their lips touched. A knowledge, an awareness, a… _recognition_ of the rightness of it, of them, together, even though it should have made no sense.

She supposed that this was what people meant when they talked about chemistry.

Then Jaime's hand found her breast through the cotton of her shirt. She whined a little, without intending to, when the hand went away again, but then somehow her shirt was unbuttoned and his hand was back, but against her bare skin now—she hadn't bothered with a bra—a finger insistently circling her nipple.

She moaned into his mouth, one hand slipping down to pull up the bottom of his t-shirt, and then she had her hands on him, just as she'd wanted. Touching him, running her hands against him, exploring the contours of him, felt good, better than good. It felt like something she'd been longing for for years, her whole life, without knowing until now that she was missing it.

Her hand slipped down beneath his waistband, and this time he was the one who moaned. Brienne grinned against his mouth.

His hands were at her hips then, pulling her closer, letting her feel the hard bulge in his jeans against the apex of her thighs. She gasped, squirming in sudden want. Her head fell back as Jaime started kissing his way down her neck, not soft little kisses, either, but an irresistible pull of lips and tongue, hot and wet and _not enough_, as his mouth sparked spot fires against her skin and a deep throbbing pulse started up down below.

Then his mouth was on hers again, and she was leaning into him and kissing him back just as demandingly, his fingers rolling her nipple into a hard little peak while his other hand moved up-

Brienne let out a pained squeak, and her shoulders tensed. Jaime went still against her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, letting his hands fall to his sides. Leaving Brienne bereft. "Did I hurt you?" His eyes, such a clear, bright green a little while ago, were dark, so very dark, and his voice sounded raspy, as if it had gone unused for years.

"Only because I'm sunburnt," Brienne said, and she winced, but as much out of frustrated desire as the sting of pressure against her burnt skin.

Jaime lifted one hand again, but only so he could press it against her cheek. "You feel like you're on fire."

"Yes," she said, and swallowed hard. It was true, and not only because of the sunburn.

"Your back as well?" he asked. His voice was still gravelly, but his tone was serious. Concerned.

"Yes," Brienne said again.

"You should have a cold shower. That's the best thing."

"Right now?"

"Right now," he confirmed, his tone level and almost business-like, though he still sounded a little breathless and hoarse, his eyes were still blown dark with desire, and she could still feel his erection pressing hard and insistent against her thigh. "You should treat it like an actual burn, just like burning your finger and putting it straight under cold running water."

How could he stand there and sound so maddeningly reasonable when he looked like _that_? Brienne was about ready to combust—and not _at all_ because of the sunburn.

"I-" she said, but she had no idea how to finish that sentence.

"Go," Jaime said. "I'll still be here after you've had your shower. I'll rub moisturiser on your back. That helps too," he added, though he suddenly didn't sound _reasonable_ any more. His eyes were even darker, sultry with promise, and his lips looked red and well-kissed, _were_ well-kissed and-

Brienne was kissing him again before she knew what she was doing. It wasn't a long kiss, but it wasn't gentle either. It was a promise of her own.

Jaime smiled, then, and Brienne realised she'd missed the look of what it did to his face, how it warmed the light in his eyes. "I'll be waiting—with the moisturiser," he said, and pushed her gently in the direction of the bathroom.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror again as she turned to get into the shower, her discarded clothing pooled at her feet. She still looked just as pink in the face as she had before. Pinker, even. But now her hair was not just unbrushed but sticking out every which way, and her eyes looked like they belonged to some other woman entirely. The quiet, careful Brienne Tarth that everyone back in London knew was nowhere to be seen.

But she wasn't in London. She was on holiday. And what happened on holiday could be left there when it was time to go home.

Brienne stepped into the shower, and turned the control to the side marked in blue. She shivered as the cold water touched her overheated skin. Jaime was right, though. The cold water did help. She lifted her face into the spray, enjoying the soothing cold after the initial sudden sting of each droplet. Gingerly, she turned beneath the spray and let the water touch her back. It really did feel better.

She let out a laugh. They'd barely got their hands properly on each other and now here she was, taking a cold shower. It was like something out of a bad movie, one that teased and held off, and delayed the pay-off, just because it could.

The water may have cooled her skin, but Brienne was pretty sure that the rest of her was still simmering gently, waiting for Jaime's touch, and waiting to touch him.

Brienne towelled herself dry, patting her back down as gently as she could, and wrapped herself in one of the enormous, soft bath sheets that she'd found folded on a shelf by the shower. She emerged from the bathroom to find Jaime standing close to the window, looking out.

He turned and saw her, and held up a white bottle with gold lettering on the front.

"I told you I'd be waiting with the moisturiser," he reminded her. "Come into the bedroom and I'll put some on your face and back." He indicated a door next to the bathroom. "Or you can lie down on the couch and we can stay out here, if you like."

He was giving her an out, if she wanted it, Brienne realised, in case the interruption and the cold shower had made her think better of whatever… of _where_ they had been so clearly headed.

_I'm on holiday_, she reminded herself. _I'm having a holiday fling. That's what this is. That's **all** this is. It won't mean anything once I'm home, so there's nothing to regret. I can just enjoy it. I can enjoy **him**._

She looked over at Jaime, a picture of male beauty with his long, lithe body, golden hair and sun-bronzed skin—a picture of something not quite real—and allowed herself to smile as she said, "The bedroom."

He pushed open the door and stepped back for her to enter the room first. Like the other parts of the suite, the bedroom was decorated in a palette of muted greys and blues and shades of white, with a single window taking up almost an entire wall. The room was sparsely furnished, and was dominated by the bed, which was quite simply huge. Brienne liked a large bed as a general rule, one that was long enough for her to stretch out to her full length without her feet sticking out over the edge, but the size of this bed was ridiculous. It was big enough for about six people.

She stood there, staring at the bed for a moment, before realising that Jaime had followed her into the bedroom and was standing beside her.

"Sit down and I'll put some lotion on your face first," he said.

Brienne perched on the edge of the bed, while Jaime sat beside her and gently applied the moisturiser to her face, first dabbing some on her nose before stroking along her cheekbones and then the line of her jaw. Such a simple, ordinary task shouldn't be erotic, and yet Brienne found herself leaning into his touch and closing her eyes against the sensation. Perhaps it was simply that it was Jaime, that she was so achingly aware of him, that his every small action, every tiny gesture, every innocent touch, was enough to get all the rest of her aching for him, too.

"Brienne," Jaime said, and his voice was rough and raspy, like before.

She opened her eyes. Jaime was looking at her as if, as if… his touching her face hadn't been any more innocent for him than it had been for her.

"I've finished with your face," he said, and swallowed hard. "Lie down on your stomach and I'll do your back."

"Okay," she said, and that was all. She lay down on her front and pushed down the bath sheet so that it covered her arse and thighs. Then she laid her head down on one of the big, square European pillows, pulling it under her and wrapping her arms around it so that it cushioned her chest as well, and waited. She heard the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, and she bit her lip. There was no going back from this.

She didn't want to go back from this.

His first touch was soft, hesitant, even. Brienne drew in a long breath, and forced herself to let it out slowly. It was just a single finger at first, then two, and three, then his whole hand, at last, stroking down her back, then circling gently, massaging the moisturiser into her too-hot skin. Then Jaime's other hand joined the first, stroking point and counterpoint over one shoulder blade and then the other, before moving inward to stroke down either side of her spine. His hands reached the edge of the bath sheet, and slipped under, stroking down and then cupping the cheeks of her arse. Brienne wriggled, wanting to feel his hands lower and lower still.

If Jaime's touch on her face had left her full of aching awareness, then this… this was something close to torture.

Brienne let out a soft groan, and rolled onto her side.

Jaime was on the bed beside her, on his knees, staring at her face. He was naked, all angles and planes and hard muscle—not to mention hard cock—his skin sun-bronzed all over, and he was the most beautiful sight that had ever met her eyes.

"Jaime," she whispered. "_Please_."

She didn't have to say anything else. He was already moving, shifting himself until he was lying back against the pillows.

"On top," he breathed, "so you don't put any pressure on your back." He reached into the bedside table and pulled out a condom, ripping it open with hands that trembled just the tiniest bit, making him clumsy in his haste.

His obvious desperation, his need to have her, made Brienne's mouth water. Her lips were wet, and probably glistening, though not as wet as she was elsewhere.

He pulled her to him, pulled her up and held her steady as she positioned herself above him. They both let out a long sigh as she lowered herself slowly down onto his cock. She closed her eyes, loving the sensation of being filled, filled with him, no longer empty and alone. She rocked back and forth and he bucked up into her, pulling her in for a long, wet kiss. She moaned into his mouth and forgot how to think for a while.

He fell back against the pillows as she pulled away, and when his fingers found her clit, circled it once, twice, her fingers clenched as her toes curled against the covers, and she was gone. The world was nothing but sensation, rapture, and somewhere nearby a voice was crying out, long and loud, beyond words.

She slumped down against him, mouthing lazy kisses along his jaw, and felt him flex inside her. Smiling, she rolled to the side, taking him with her, for of course she was as tall and maybe as strong as he was, until she was lying on her back with him above her.

"Your back," he said.

"It doesn't hurt," she said, and it was true. Right now nothing hurt. Later she might have to pay for the abrasion of the bed linens against her burnt skin, but right now it didn't hurt, and she didn't care. She just wanted Jaime's body covering her as he took his pleasure of her, his face close above her so that she could watch him as he came. She arched up, driving him deeper, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

"God, you feel good," he gasped as he thrust into her and she arched to meet him, again and again and again. "Utterly, utterly perf- Oh!" His words turned into a long, low exhalation as he stilled, his eyes losing focus as his face revealed everything to her that his smiles usually hid. Brienne felt his cock jerking as he spent himself inside her.

It was his turn to slump on her, but he only did so for a moment or two before he rolled off and was urging her onto her side. "I didn't go to all that trouble with the moisturiser just for you to ruin the effects of my work first chance you got," he said, mock-severely.

Brienne didn't even bother to reply. She just pulled him in for a long, slow kiss. He came into her arms, smiling, and set his lips to hers.

~*~

"We should probably get some lunch," Brienne said an indefinable amount of time later. It was an odd sensation, as if time had stopped moving at the usual pace, or maybe it wasn't moving at all. There were just the two of them and this room, _this bed_, and nothing else mattered, nothing else _existed_, until they chose to acknowledge it. It was strange to think that outside, for everyone else, the day was progressing just as it usually did.

"Room service?" Jaime suggested, twirling one finger in her hair, and then leaning in to plant a kiss just below her ear.

Brienne sighed, and turned to kiss him.

More time passed. Or didn't pass, as the case may be.

"Room service," Jaime said again after a while.

It was tempting, but, "No," Brienne said. "You promised me fish and chips on the beach. Remember?"

"I did," Jaime agreed. "But we're going to get you a hat and some SPF 50 sunscreen before we go anywhere near the beach."

"Okay," Brienne said. In any other time and place, with any other man, she would have bristled at being told what she was going to do. But somehow, it didn't matter. Jaime had shown that he cared when he'd sent her off to have a cold shower in the middle of making out, when they were already desperate for each other and not quite ready to fully admit it. After that, he'd earned the right to tell her that she was getting a hat and sunscreen. And anyway, she was so relaxed that the level of stress that she usually carried with her like a burden felt like something that she'd set down long ago and far away.

And perhaps it was. Until they left this room, anyway.

Maybe they should get room service after all.

But Jaime was already getting up, and padding over to the pile of clothes that he'd left in the middle of the floor. Sighing, Brienne got up as well, and took herself off to the bathroom to retrieve her clothes and see if she could possibly make herself vaguely presentable.

Not that she really cared what anyone else thought of how she looked, apart from Jaime. And Jaime thought she looked just fine.

~*~

Brienne found a floppy, broad-brimmed hat and a tube of the strongest sunscreen known to man, or to woman for that matter, at the local pharmacy, while Jaime walked up the street to get fish and chips.

They met up again, with a soft kiss, and Jaime applied sunscreen to every visible bit of Brienne's skin—and a few bits that weren't technically visible unless she'd undone at least three or four buttons of her shirt—before they wandered across the road to the beach to feast on barramundi and chips.

It was a Sunday, and it was school holidays, Jaime told her, so they were hardly the only people on the beach. They wandered along the sand, listening to the excited squeals of children playing in the shallows, eating chips and throwing a few to the seagulls, until a large, squawking crowd of the birds had gathered. They were smaller than the seagulls Brienne was used to, with red legs and beaks instead of yellow, but the same beady, sharp-eyed stare.

A seagull was a seagull, anywhere in the world, apparently.

A crowd of people had gathered a little way along the beach from the crowd of seagulls, and when Brienne and Jaime arrived they discovered that the people they'd seen surfing there were doing more than just the usual sort of surfing. The local chapter of the Tandem Surfing Association was trying to promote their particular flavour of the sport by holding a competition here, and they'd brought in several of the best tandem surfing teams in the country to provide a demonstration before the competition itself got underway the following day.

Brienne and Jaime sat down on a little hillock of sand covered in a sparse, spindly sort of grass, and ate fish and chips with plastic sporks as they watched the surfers. It was immediately obvious that they were very good at what they did, and that tandem surfing required a set of skills—and a body type—that Brienne would never possess. Not that she minded; it was nice enough to watch for a while on a Sunday afternoon, but not something she'd ever want to try for herself.

The surfboards were larger—both longer and wider—than the more common sort that had become a familiar sight to Brienne in her travels down the coast over the past couple of weeks. The male half of each couple was tall and fit-looking.

"You could do this," Brienne whispered in Jaime's ear.

"No, I most definitely couldn't," Jaime said, but he smiled in a way that said he took her suggestion as a compliment.

The female surfers were short and slender, and it was very soon clear that their role was the most demanding. They must have been trained in gymnastics, and acrobatics as well, as they assumed complicated poses, like a ballet dancer, but one dancing over a moving wave.

They all applauded once the demonstration was done. The crowd dispersed quickly. Brienne and Jaime disposed of their lunch containers and sporks in a convenient bin, and slowly made their way back along the beach. The headland rose up before them at the end of the beach, the tall, white tower of the Cape Byron lighthouse reaching towards the puffy little clouds scudding across the sky.

"Do you want to go and have a look at the lighthouse?" Jaime asked.

"Why?" Brienne asked.

"Cape Byron is the eastern-most point of Australia—of the continent—and tourists like to have their pictures taken there. You're a tourist, so…"

Brienne gave him a long look.

"And the view's pretty," Jaime continued blithely.

Brienne took his hand, and made him stop and face her. "Jaime, what is this?" she asked. "What are we doing?"

The familiar little smile curved the corners of Jaime's mouth but the look in his eyes was suddenly serious. Maybe even a trifle wary. "A holiday?" he suggested. "We _are_ both on holiday."

"We are," Brienne said. "How long will you be here?"

He shrugged. "I can rearrange my schedule and stay here for a while, if I want to." His gaze was suddenly intensely green as his eyes looked straight into hers, as if trying to convince her of his sincerity. "And I _do_ want to. What about you?"

"I have a plane ticket to take me back to England in a week."

"Then I'm here for a week, if that's what you want." Jaime went silent. He was very still. He was waiting, Brienne realised. The next move was hers.

A week. A week and then the rest of her life afterwards.

"That's what I want," she said.

They didn't really plan to kiss, or at least Brienne didn't, but then Jaime's arms were around her, his hands in her hair—again—and she was pulling him close, and their lips found each other.

There was a wolf whistle and scattered applause. They broke apart, grinning at each other.

A week. But what a week it was going to be. Something that she could look back on, like a beautiful dream.

"Brienne!"

Brienne went cold. No. The dream was _not_ going to turn into a nightmare. Not so soon. Not at all. She wouldn't allow it.

"Brienne! I couldn't believe it was you, but then who else could it be, so tall and so… you? What the fuck are you doing here? And why the fuck haven't you replied to any of my calls or texts? I was just about to go to the police to report you missing!" The speaker was shouting as he made his way towards them, uncaring of how many people were nearby to hear. Uncaring of anything, and most particularly of her.

"Hello, Hyle," Brienne said, very quietly. She was still. Tense. She could feel her face going rigid, her expression blank.

"Hello? Is that all you have to say? Hello? You left me with a fucking case full of sundresses and tampons and lip balm! What am I supposed to do with that? Did you even bother to consider that before you ran off with my luggage?" He was red in the face, but not from the sun. Just anger, simmering, resentful anger at the world, and, right now, at her in particular.

"Excuse me," Jaime said, very mildly—far _too_ mildly. "I believe you're Hyle Hunt?”

“How do you know that?!” Hyle whirled to face him, looking Jaime up and down.

“I just wanted to make sure," Jaime said. He laid a hand on Hyle's shoulder.

"Who the fuck are you?" Hyle asked, grabbing at Jaime's hand and trying to shove it away.

"Jaime Lannister," Jaime said, his voice going hard as steel as his other hand, clenched into a fist, connected with Hyle's jaw and knocked him sprawling onto the sand.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for any little glitches in this, but I really need to go to bed.
> 
> Tomorrow's prompt is "colors". We'll see if I have the strength to write something. After this one, I think I might need a day off.
> 
> There will be more to come in this universe, either way. Obviously.


End file.
